Curiosity of Madness
by jgal747
Summary: What is madness? How has it reached even the most peaceful of souls? How can it be inspired by a single person walking amongst thousands? In Mundus, only one being can create such chaos, and the Dragonborn has the unfortunate luck of meeting its new incarnation...
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Even the calmest people are raging.

Raging at what? No one quite knows except them, unless they wish to scream it out to the world. Inside everyone, nagging thoughts ring, gripping their hearts and their minds like iron. In some cases, it permeates. They get consumed by this thought, rambling and tittering over it. These now contain the ultimate form of something. Something everyone owns, but only some embrace.

This, dear mortal, is madness.

Madness, in the minds of all but in the hearts of few. Madness, the thought that ranges from nothing changing to everything changing all at once. Madness, the thing that can turn even the bravest of people into savages.

No one is completely sane. That is why there are opposites. Black and white, dark and light, happiness and grief, love and indifference, sanity and insanity. There is always opposition in the world. The people that go to try and assay these differences may find themselves fruitless in their endeavors. So lost in their research they may find themselves obsessed, bedeviled...crazy.

Then there are those thrust into the madness, ones that simply found themselves in the wrong moment at the wrong time. These unfortunate people tend to be the worst off. Or, they can be the most well-suited.

Say me, for example. Sheogorath, the new Daedric Prince of Madness. Well, when I say _new_, I mean the newest one of Me for the era. I've always been around, lurking, waiting to strike with my darling creation.

I started out normal, yes. As normal as one can be. As normal as the Dragonborn was, until I had the luck to meddle in his affairs. Meddling is always fun; I highly recommend it.

But like always, I digress. Point is, the most average people can change so drastically when insanity comes into the picture.

Just the way I like it.

* * *

**A/N: Greetings! I figured two years since its release would be as good a time than any to put up a Skyrim fanfic. Let it be known that it'll be a slight AU - meaning, I'll need to tweak a few things for the plot to flow smoother. Nothing too major, but I might as well say it. Be prepared for a pretty long ride if you're up for it. Also, I don't exactly have a schedule for this story, but I'll try to be as swift as I can in uploading chapters. I don't want to promise anything, but it might be weekly updates. Don't quote me on that. Anyway, thanks for clicking and review!**

**Disclaimer: I'm only putting this up once that I don't own the Elder Scrolls series at all. That much should be obvious.  
Rating: (again, only once) Rated for typical Elder Scrolls violence and shenanigans.**


	2. The Offer

**The Offer**

The Shivering Isles were still, almost tranquil. Its inhabitants lived their lives in Mania or Dementia or the Fringe. The occasional rain-shower would occur, replenishing the mushroom-like foliage and dreary swamps. It was simply another day, one that could be seen as almost _too_ peaceful for a place such as the Shivering Isles.

Sheogorath gazed out of the window of New Sheoth Palace in boredom. No one bothered to bother her today - or any other day, in fact, but this day in particular. Today was one day in which not even she could explain the utter boredom that simply poured out of every cell in her body. She hadn't had a single (what she counted as) adventurous day in over two-hundred years. She debated travelling to Tamriel, perhaps scaring the living day-lights out of her followers at her shrine. Yet, even that seemed treacherous and time-wasting.

The Madgod could not find a single thing to do, and that was driving her insane. Then, she had to chuckle to herself, that was _why_ she was feeling such unadulterated boredom. Anything that drove her crazy would happen, just to keep her on her toes, even if nothing happening did the trick.

Which it did.

Her attitude over the last few months had differed, to say the least. She had gotten more twitchy. Her eyes, usually the golden-irises with black slits for pupils that the former Sheogorath had been so fond of, sometimes flitted to the dark brown eyes she had as a mortal. At times, she let the old, rough accent of her past's tone seep into her voice, talking like that instead of her normally soothing Cyrodilic accent. When questioned, she would merely chuckle, tell the asker that it was fun to shake things up like that, and then equivocate to another subject.

But her boredom had begun to get dangerous. Whispers among the servants and townsfolk said that she had killed ten workers in the last three days just for amusement. The citizens in Dementia took pride and comfort at the fact that the new Sheogorath did such a thing, but the Manic side became fearful. She had been their Duchess before her glorified promotion, and they felt as though she had deceived them at last. But no matter how the commoners felt, none would dare ask if such rumors were true.

Sheogorath's gaze was ripped from the window when a knock rapped on her door. A servant opened the well-oiled door cautiously, peeking out from around the threshold. "Milady," he spoke, a quiver in his voice. "You have a visitor."

"Visitor?" she asked, her voice mendaciously soft and soothing. "Who? Is it that milk-deliverer I ordered last month?"

The servant shook his head. "No, milady. It's...Talos, milady. He says it is urgent and to come down as soon as you can, milady."

Her thin lips pursed into a frown, her eyes narrowing as she contemplated his news. "Tell him I will be down shortly."

He nodded. "Yes, milady. As you wish, milady." With a final nod, he shut the door and scurried down the hallway.

Sheogorath, once she was finally by herself, sighed wearily, standing from the windowsill while smoothing her dress. She took the time to admire the garb; it was a long-sleeved dress with puffy shoulders, going all the way down to her ankles. She had it made similarly to the previous Sheogorath's design, with the orange and green patterns stitched all throughout the dress. Her collar was high and her hands were covered by two finger-less gloves, one green and one burgundy.

When she figured that she had plenty of time to waste, as it only took a minute to get to the main hall, she approached a mirror and checked her features. They were just as she'd remembered from twenty minutes ago. Her high cheekbones were there and her skin was still the light tan of an Imperial's. Her warpaint was still perfect; there were three vertical stripes that went down to the bottoms of her cheeks, curving inwards to resemble claw marks. Half of her long and straight black locks were up in a tail with bangs framing her sharp features.

Her lips pulled into a smirk. Of course everything was in place; she was Sheogorath, Daedric Prince of Madness!

She began walking downstairs, passing by a library which held an interminable amount of books, some even from Hermaeus Mora; only the ones he deemed "useless in his collection of knowledge." Another roomed passed was abundant in mannequins sporting various outfits, such as her Dark Brotherhood robes and her ebony mail. There was a torture room, yes, one that, at most times, she never bothered to go into.

Sheogorath's mind wandered once again, back to 200 years ago, during her first days as a Daedric Prince. As of late, she often revelled in her memories, as they were so much more interesting than her rather dull life now.

* * *

_"How many Princes are here?" she questioned, staring wide-eyed at Haskill._

_He sighed, "All of them, milady. They all wish to speak with you." The chamberlain was only slightly unnerved by the mass amount of power radiating from the room over, but learned quickly that everything would - he hoped - come out unscathed in the end._

_"Why on Nirn would they all be here at the same time, though? How come I can't hear them killing each other right now? Did you make the walls soundproof?" she asked with a glare along with her accusation at the end. "You know how much I hate soundproofed walls."_

_"I believed they made a truce while they... got to know you better, the new host of Sheogorath. Really, we should not keep them waiting."_

_With a brief nod, the newly-titled Sheogorath stood from her throne and strolled into the dining room, an addition she made to New Sheoth Palace which could, if she so chose to, fit every citizen of New Sheoth. For now, the long table had been set for sixteen. And there sat the other Daedric Princes, each staring at each other in an uncomfortable silence. Sheogorath cleared her throat and watched as all eyes slid over to her. Well, _most _eyes; Hermaeus Mora's figure just turned in her direction, making her shudder when the slimy mass of tentacles moved. His action didn't appease the Princes that sat near him, either._

_She truly didn't know what to do. What did they expect of her? Did they expect someone similar to the former Sheogorath, one that went from cracking jokes to dishing out death threats in a mere moment? Or did they want a calm, more thoughtful Madgod, one that silently rode out their insanity while sitting with a smile on their face? Such a mortal, human act arose when her cheeks began to redden at the mass amount of attention that was placed onto her. "Uh, greetings, fellow-"_

_"Where's the wine?" Sanguine muttered, slumping back in his chair with his arms crossed, looking around lazily for any bottles on the table._

_Sheogorath's features mimed her confusion as she slowly slid into her seat at the head of the table, not even noticing the servant that pulled out the chair for her. "In the cabinet behind you, but-"_

_A miniature, pallid green dragon - Peryite, who had decreased his size, just for the occasion - slapped his talons down on the table. He hissed, "Why isn't each goblet exactly six centimeters away from each plate?"_

_"The servants overlooked that. They don't measure everything..." Sheogorath trailed off when she realized that absolutely no one was listening._

_She was hopelessly panicking. Namira stared at the food on the table, muttering the question about human flesh being served. After a moment, she began to taste-test every sample of food in search of human remains, even the apples. Sanguine was already guzzling down his third goblet of wine. Peryite's dragon body slithered in the air, slipping past each Prince to align the silverware, making most of them cringe at the foul odor he always reeked of that most likely would kill a mortal should they inhale it. Azura was toying with the chandelier above them, making the candlelight grow brighter and dimmer, while Nocturnal stared longingly at the shadows the adjustments of light produced. Though under truce, Molag Bal and Boethiah were glaring daggers at each other across the table, no doubt slaughtering the other in their minds. Meridia carefully cradled a leaf in her palm, watching its life ebb and flow by her doing._

Nothing was going right.

_Squeezing her eyes shut, Sheogorath yelled, "Stop!" All fifteen Princes immediately halted what they were doing and stared at her, intrigued and perhaps skeptical of her straightforwardness. Her eyes flickered to a dark brown as her mortal side surveyed the scene. "Now, I know I'm supposed to be the new Madgod, but this, _this, _is pure insanity!"_

_Meridia placed the leaf on the table and stood up gracefully, her robes flowing around her with swishes that made it look alive. "Of course. Welcome to our... dysfunctional little family." A small smile graced her features as she extended her arms to exemplify the other Princes._

_Blinking a few times, the Madgod's eyes returned to gold as she said, "Why, thank you. Hopefully, you'll all get used to Me. And if you don't, too bad! You're stuck with Me until I pass down the title back to Myself! Sounds fun." In the back of her mind, a voice scolded herself for her inability to yet control her powers. Since her promotion to Daedric Prince a mere two days ago, she could hardly control her own emotions; case in point when she ordered an execution, only to walk up to the pyre, just as it was about to be lit, three hours later and declare it a celebration for grass._

_Though unnecessary, each Prince gave their own minuscule introduction, some more pleasant than others. Sheogorath quickly made a mental list of the Princes she would ever _want_ to be in contact with, and crossed out all others. The decision to make such a list occurred when Mehrunes Dagon gruffly spit out his name, glaring at her as he no doubt remembered her from her times in assisting Martin Septim in defeating him. She swore that she would never trust Mehrunes Dagon, and never be alone with him, for he'd most likely gut her, melt her into a pile of ashes, and burn the ashes as well. Repeatedly._

_Hermaeus Mora had been ever so kind as to regurgitate a few books he had brought along in the container of his vessel's stomach. He bestowed upon her some of the books in his collection that he conceived to be useless to him. They were still rather impressive, possibly not being on Nirn for over five-hundred years. If only they weren't covered in slobber and bile..._

_Sanguine attempted to make an impressive speech full of zeal and fervor, but it culminated into a slurred mess of words as the alcohol had imprisoned his diction. Clavicus Vile introduced her to Barbas, an adorable dog with a suave accent - and she was hardly surprised the dog could speak. Boethiah challenged her to a duel and Sheogorath boasted that she could beat the former with a fork. Hircine brought along some fresh-kill, which Malacath quickly gobbled down all of, excusing his voracious appetite to the Orcish need for sustenance as often as one inhaled. Vaermina attempted to promise Sheogorath not to plague her mortal side with nightmares, and Mephala swore to hardly ever try and lure said mortal side into a trap; the promises were drowned out by Sanguine bursting out laughing ("As if ya two wou' *hic* stick to a promise!")._

_"I must say, all of you are quite interesting to be around. Well, except you, Molag Bal. Can I call you Molly?" Seeing as the Lord of Corruption was about to pounce and rip her head from her spine, she continued, "We should do this again sometime. I'll write the invitations! What should they be on? Parchment? No, no, no, that's too boring. Should they be on a horker tusk? OOH, how about on a giant's toe?"_

_She was to continue in her ramblings when a wave in the air was felt and her words died in her throat. Malice, consternation, and hate swelled in the air, nearly choking her and straining against her soul. It coiled around her stomach, squeezing it painfully as she nervously watched each Prince glance at each other, feeling the disturbance as well. One by one, they disappeared, easing the burdening feeling on Sheogorath's chest with each departure until her and Nocturnal were the last ones remaining. _

_The sensation gone, Sheogorath blinked and asked, "Wow. Did I crash the party that easily?"_

_Nocturnal stood from her seat, the crows that were roosting on her shoulders fidgeting at the movement, letting out small squawks of protest. "No. Our truce was over. We only... played nice for you. Be grateful." The Night Mistress' lips pursed as she stared at Sheogorath, intrigue and an odd sense of mirth in her eyes that sent the latter's eyebrows furrowing. "I wish to speak with you again, Sheogorath. I find you rather interesting." With that, she disappeared in a plume of atramentous smoke, leaving nothing but a crow's feather in her stead._

_Haskill appeared in the doorway, looking around the room warily. "Milady, are they gone now?"_

_Sheogorath simply smirked, leaning farther back in her seat. "No, my dear Haskill. We're playing hide-and-seek. You're it!" She snapped her fingers and teleported in a light blue portal, re-materializing in a staircase while giggling maniacally. _

Oh yes_, her mind practically shouted, _that went along swimmingly.

* * *

Her mind returned to the present when she passed through the grand arches and into the main hall. The sight of the room brought satisfaction to dance in her eyes. From the beginning of her reign, she had found the hall dreary and lifeless, only being a long walkway leading up to her throne with dull fires burning in dull braziers. Of course, she adored the Font of Madness and the greenery around it, but found the overall ambiance of the place jejune. As the previous Duchess of Mania, she vowed to combat this and liven the place up. For her, that meant a long table with chairs equidistant to each other. The table was brimming with mortal delicacies, but mostly cheese. Always cheese. With the occasional carrot.

Sitting at the right side of the table, closest to the throne, was none other than Tiber Septim himself. His back was to her, yet she knew it was him merely from his towering Nordic stature and the colossal greatsword strapped to his back. A mischievous smirk spread across Sheogorath's face as she silenced her footsteps and crept behind him. Just as he began to sip from his tankard of mead, she leaned next to his ear and whispered, "It's poisoned."

He reacted, spitting up the mead in his mouth and sputtering while wiping his mouth clean with his hand. She chuckled mirthfully and moved to her throne. Talos eyed her movement as he stared at her, his icy blue eyes holding shock and the perpetual exasperation he always seemed to have when visiting. "One of these days, Sheogorath, you'll be the death of me," he said rather loudly, as most Nords tended to do, with a thick accent from his homeland.

The quiet laugh she was uttering bursted into maniacal giggling as she sat down, smoothing down her dress and folding her hands in her lap. "But you're already dead! Or was Sancre Tor a myth?" One of her eyebrows cocked at her question.

Talos grimaced before composing himself. "Does the name Kynara bring you as much pain as Sancre Tor does for me?"

His question brought the two immortals into a standstill. Her jaw clenched and she blinked, her eyes morphing into a dark brown. "Taking it a bit far there, aren't you?" Her retort came out quietly, almost conversationally, but inside she was seething. Their conversations never really deviated down this path, and she absolutely despised it when it did. There the Mangod was, insulting her own self, right to her own face. It was unthinkable! It was obscene!

It was... crazy.

At the thought of her sphere of power, she returned to herself, cat-like eyes suddenly showing joy. "Well, you sure are _happy_ today," she equivocated, "It's not often you come for housecalls, either. So tell me, Tiber, what do you want?"

Talos' hostility diminished slightly and he took a deep breath. "I'm here to... ask a favor of you." He glanced down at his tankard, sorely hoping that it was not poisoned, as he truly wanted to gulp all of it down at this point.

She saw his gaze and grinned. "You won't die if you drink it. Well, alcoholism, maybe, but you're a Nord, so I think you'll be fine. Now, what is this favor? You know I don't _do_ favors, unless something's in it for me."

Relief swept through him and he went to drink, shooting his head back and finishing it off in a few gulps. He was aware that, with what he was asking, he would need a monstrous amount more to get him through the conversation. Talos began, "Yes, I know. You and I were mortal once. We know how to live on Tamriel. We have endured hardships, and overcame them, suffering losses but still moving forwards. That is the most humane act one can do-"

"_Boring!"_ she interrupted with a roll of her eyes. "Old habits die hard, I guess, but you don't need to rattle off our life stories if we both know them. Does your request have to deal with your newfound fatigue?"

He blinked back his surprise. "Aye. My worship has been banned, as you know. It leaves us... tired."

"Well, not me or my other Daedric Princes, but I get your point. Continue!" Sheogorath inwardly grinned at the thought. Aedra, from the start of time, had received their power from their worshippers. Although Akatosh was the creator of Mundus, his true strength came from the people who prayed and built shrines for him. Opposite that, Daedric Princes had always gotten their power from what they controlled. Since insanity was implanted in every mortal being, her power would never deplete.

Talos continued, "Yes... A group of Nords grow rebellious. One leads an army to bring my worship back."

The Madgod was aware where this was going, and she loved every second of it. "And...?"

Almost like a disgruntled child forced to do something, he muttered, "I was hoping that you would... join them." This was most definitely something he wished not to do. Daedra and Divine, they should never get along, yet here he was, asking the Insane One for help. Yet, he had nowhere else to turn. He had watched Tamriel from his seat next to Akatosh, and knew the rebellion was winding down. Something was bound to happen that sealed the fate of it and his worship would remain permanently banned. He had left for the Shivering Isles as soon as he watched the leader get captured by Imperial soldiers. The leader, and another Nord, one who sported an amulet of the Mangod but was not a Stormcloak himself. With a simple glance, Talos learned of a new Dragonborn, which brought him hope for the rebellion but not enough. He was not allowed to meddle with the mortal's affairs unless absolutely necessary, and he would not force another Dragonborn to fight. So he had continued onwards, knowing that if Sheogorath fought for him, they were bound to be victorious.

"And why me, out of all immortals?" she questioned.

"You know why." He shot her a look that was an amalgam of anger and confusion. It was known to all the immortals that the new Sheogorath could enter Nirn, though no one knew why. She was most definitely not supposed to - no one was - ever since the last Septim sealed the connection between Nirn and otherworldly planes. Akatosh believed it was partly due to her still being half-mortal, and the others agreed. It would never have been such a problem if she did not exercise her ability frequently. The Divines kept a close watch on her while she was on Tamriel, but she never did any harm, not to their knowledge. All she ever did was wander, mostly around Cyrodiil, or she went to her followers' shrines, leaving them flustered and aghast as they tried to accommodate.

"So I do," Sheogorath replied with a chuckle. "Hmm, let me summarize: You wish for me, Sheogorath, _Prince of Madness_, to help you, Talos, _the Mangod,_ restore your worship."

"And..." he trailed.

"And what?"

"There's another Dragonborn. You know me-"

"You want me to protect her-"

"Him," he corrected quickly.

She rolled her eyes. "Him. Well, Talos, you are surely asking a lot for a Daedra. An insane one, at that. We're supposed to be enemies, remember?"

He shifted in his seat. "It was not always like that. Daedra and Aedra just had differing views, and eventually hatred spewed."

"Probably because a few Princes have hatred embedded in their blood. And other's blood, too."

"I'm aware. Yet, we could form an alliance. You can do as I ask, and I..."

She scoffed. "What could you do for me? I have everything I want right here! Well, aside from those pesky Grummites, but they're nothing." Sheogorath leaned forward in her seat, entwining her fingers and resting her chin atop them. "What could you possibly give me?"

Talos stared down at the empty tankard in front of him. "I could let you see Martin Septim again, once this is all over."

She slowly sat up, her back rigid and the hairs on her neck standing up as a cold chill swept over her. Her eyes fluctuated, the golden practically being swallowed by brown and her pupil compressing back into a circle. Those words, she internally gasped, those words were just _so familiar._..

* * *

_It was hopeless._

_The innumerable scamps scattered through the rubble, casting fire everywhere and at everyone. A few Dremora lurked and finished off those soldiers too weak to continue. The sky was as crimson as the blood being spilled on the streets in front of her. Kynara tried cutting down a few Oblivion-walkers as she passed, but an interminable amount took their place when she did. Fire singed her hair and melted her armor, burning the skin underneath._

_Tears sprung in her eyes as she heard the scraping cacophony of an Oblivion Gate opening nearby. They were already overwhelmed; any more and the fight would be for naught. She turned her head to see a colossal red crack slice through Tamriel's boundaries and open up the swirling, fiery gate. Only, this Gate was bigger than any she had ever seen; it easily surpassed the White-Gold Tower, to her dismay. Then, a massive red foot stepped out onto the street, followed by a leg, and then the body followed, leading up to the monstrous face of a beast with gnarled teeth, pointed ears, and various spikes along its bald head._

_Mehrunes Dagon._

_A tear slid down her cheek as she stared up at him. It dripped off of her cheek and fell, evaporating as it fell onto her armor._

_Fighting was useless now._

_That was, until she saw Martin step next to her out of her peripheral. Kynara gaped at him and eventually pointed at the Daedric Prince. "It's no use! He's already invaded!" she shouted over the din of crackling fire and tormented screams._

_Martin merely shook his head silently before gripping her forearm, focusing as a light blue aura washed over her. Kynara snapped her head to stare at him casting the ward, the magic tingling over her skin not being unpleasant. She took time to look at him; his simple priest robes were scorched and soot covered his face. Despite this, the Amulet of Kings shone proudly from around his neck and his eyes were just as bright._

_"Hope is not lost yet," he said. "He has not noticed us. Quick, to the chapel!" His voice cut a clear path through her mind and she nodded, feeling a small trickle of hope reappear in her from the stern but optimistic gleam in his eyes. _

_They scurried through the streets, trying to be as incognito as possible. Kynara hacked down scamps with renewed strength from Martin's ward, protecting the Septim with all she could manage. He was the last hope and she would be damned if he perished when they were so close. Her heart nearly stopped beating when Mehrune Dagon's gaze swept to them, anger beyond belief lingering in his molten-red irises. A snarl ripped through the air from his mouth and suddenly all the scamps turned to them._

_"At last, the bastard Septim and his champion. My plans will no longer be foiled by your meddling! Prepare to burn in my Oblivion!" the Daedric Prince roared, his voice grating against every mortal's ears and leaving Kynara's lungs void of air. Time seemed to slow as he raised his foot and brought it to hover over her. A meek whimper poured from her lips as it stopped directly above her form. This was it. The amulet around her neck was not going to save her anymore, but she gripped it tight and prayed to Kynareth for a peaceful afterlife._

_As if the gods themselves were listening, a body rushed to her and gripped her by the forearm, tugging her out of Mehrune Dagon's path just in time. It smashed down onto empty air, sending the pavement crackling and reducing into nothing more than a heap of rubble stabbing into his foot. Kynara managed to return to the presence and stared at the grim face of Martin. "We must go while he is incapable!" he yelled._

_She managed to nod feebly and they continued onwards, managing to step into the Temple of the One just before a few Dremora reached them. Kynara pushed a cumbersome rock in front of the door to shut it from any outsiders. During the time she spent, Martin walked to stand in front of the Dragonfire, but made no move to light it. She approached him warily, worried at the thoughtful glaze in his eyes that showed he was devising a plan. _

_After a short moment, he turned to her, suddenly showing sorrow. "I am afraid this is where we part," he said mournfully. "There is nothing I am able to do but obey to the call of Akatosh. I must not be on this realm any longer."_

_Her heart clawed its way into her throat. This could not be the end; she would not allow it! "There must be another way! Light the Dragonfires. That might banish all the Daedra!" Kynara persisted, determination shining in her eyes. _

_Martin gripped her shoulders and shook them forcefully. "No! The Dragon beckons me with the best way to seal the ward. It is my duty as Emperor to protect Tamriel." His features suddenly softened and a small smile appeared. "You have been my greatest friend in these trying times, and I could not thank you more. You have saved Tamriel in more ways than one, so let me save it this final time." He leaned in to gently kiss her forehead. "Perhaps we shall meet again, once this is all over."_

* * *

Sheogorath stopped herself from delving into the memory further. She refused to remember the way The Temple of the One crashed around her as Mehrunes Dagon and Martin fought, the fatigued and sorrowful glance the dragon gave her before it turned into stone, the countless hours she spent simply staring at the statue once the ordeal was done. The name Kynara did not bring her pain; the mention of Martin did, and the glare she gave Talos let him know of that fact.

"So, if I go to Skyrim, win the war in your name, and protect your little Dragonborn, you will allow me to see him again?" she asked quietly. Talos simply nodded solemnly. She abruptly stood up and glowered at him, creating a tense aura to seep from her, filling all in the room with dread. It seemed to coil around Talos' throat as he watched her with anticipation. A golden glow radiated from her being. "Swear it on the blood shed at Sancre Tor," Sheogorath said, her voice echoing off the stone walls.

"I swear," he said with finality.

Then it all stopped. The dreadful feeling receded and she returned back to normal with golden eyes. "Well!" she said with a voice so cheery and positive that Talos vaguely wondered if what just happened occurred. She slid back into her seat and called, "Haskill!"

The chamberlain entered from his position stationed at the door, brushing nonexistent dust from off his shoulder. "Yes, milady?" he said in his usual monotonous voice.

"Get my armor," she commandeered with a smirk. "I'm going to Skyrim."


	3. Into Skyrim

'_Cursed Greybeards. Why must you live atop the damned Throat of the World?'_

Tallak trudged up the Seven-Thousand Steps, his eyes watering from walking against the paralyzing wind that nipped his bones. He was tired, so very tired. Nothing would have pleased him more than to be sitting in his family's house at the base of the mountain with a tankard of mead in his hand as he sat in front of the blazing fire. The very thought almost warmed him, but a particularly icy breeze brought reality crashing down upon his shoulders. His bones were weary; he had lived his life as a simple farmer's son, not a warrior, and certainly not the Dragonborn! His body was not yet used to this type of endurance, and the cold was doing nothing to help. It was exponentially colder up on the Throat of the World than it was down at his home. Anyone other than a Nord would find it nigh impossible to move in such a chill; even he was having trouble concentrating!

He glanced up when the trail merged from steps to a steep slope and saw the monastery looming up ahead. '_So this is where the elusive Greybeards live,'_ he thought, gripping his cloak around his neck tighter. Just before High Hrothgar was a statue of Talos that stood proudly against the sheets of snow falling down around it. Tallak scrambled to in front of the statue and knelt down while pulling out his amulet from under his armor. He was always discreet in having it in his possessions; Talos' banishment in no way stopped him from worshipping the Mangod, yet he did not want to be hauled to prison because of it, either.

The wind threw back his hood, causing his long blonde hair to whip around his face wildly and sting his ice-blue eyes. He ignored it for the moment and sent a quick but meaningful prayer to Talos, wishing for strength in the upcoming battles and hardships he would no doubt find himself part of.

Tallak stumble from his kneeling position and fiddled with the hood to place it atop his head once more. After safely tucking his amulet away, he continued his trek to High Hrothgar, dumping Klimmek's supplies in the offering chest. He reminded himself to get the reward when he walked down, but decided it was not necessary and he would probably argue with Klimmek about the reward, but he knew he would accept the gold in the end. With a heavy sigh of determination, he pushed open the great doors of High Hrothgar, ready to begin his training as Dragonborn.

* * *

"I just received a prayer from the Dragonborn," Talos called, his eyes sparking with a little more fire than he had but a minute ago. All mortal prayer to him made him feel stronger, but a prayer from another with the dragon's blood was more powerful and granted him more energy. The Ninth Divine was standing in the center of the courtyard of New Sheoth Palace as a portal was being prepared by the best of the Isles' mages into Tamriel. Against his wishes, they agreed for him to accompany her into Skyrim momentarily. He would only be allowed on Mundus for as long as the portal was there; as soon as it disappeared, he would have to vanish. They made arrangements for the portal to be sustained for a little under a minute, just so he could give final instructions.

As an afterthought, he added, "Will this take us to the exact place he worshipped? At the exact moment?"

"Maybe. I don't really feel like keeping up with the tasks of Time in the Isles; it's too boring and _tedious!_ I don't see how you Divines handle it at all," Sheogorath replied, strapping on her gauntlet to her right hand. Her armor was the highest standard in the Isles; ebony, with wicked spikes protruding from her shoulders and the metal twisting down her body in large plates. It was supposed to be cumbersome and heavy, but an enchanter created it so it was lightweight and hardly weighed a thing. The Manic enchanter presented it to her in hushed undertones, ensuring that he made it because the new Sheogorath 'should have the best, most quality armor so she isn't brutally mauled.' Needless to say, Sheogorath was touched.

The Wabbajack was strapped to her back and her ebony sword glowed a dull orange hue at her side, signalling to all that touch the blade malevolently shall burn into a crisp. On her hip was a dark brown bag that was small but was interminably bigger on the inside. With a simple thought, she could wish any item stored in it to appear and it would arise; all she needed to do was put her hand in the bag and think.

Sheogorath nodded to Talos as the preparations on the portal were completed. "Let us depart!" she said with zeal before promptly turning to glance at her chamberlain. "Haskill, be a dear and take care of the place."

"But of course. Safe travels, milady. I will be anxiously awaiting your return," he replied, sarcasm dripping from his voice that made the Madgod grin wildly.

"You'd better be, or I'll turn you into a rat and pluck your eyes out!" With a final cackle, she stepped into the purplish portal, disappearing from view. Talos sighed and followed her into Skyrim, whether he wanted to or not.

* * *

"Mother of Nirn, Talos! Could you have picked a colder place to set us in?" Tallak overheard as he stepped out of the monastery, his jovial mood quickly diminishing into suspicion. It had been a tranquil month with the Greybeards. They had taken him in as soon as he uttered '_Fus,_' and quickly taught him all he needed to know about Thu'ums. He learned their shouts with ease - all in the first week, really - but stayed to contemplate and meditate with them. A few taught him the basics of the dragon language, so he would be aware of what he was learning if he ever came across another Word Wall. Spending that time in solitude, cut off from wolrdly problems, rejuvenated him, and he was finally prepared to step out into the real world.

But, he wasn't expecting other people to be making the trip to High Hrothgar, too.

"I had to. This was where he last prayed," another voice replied, causing Tallak to quickly hide behind the outer walls of the monastery as he eavesdropped. He was the only one to exit from this side of the building, praying at the shrine often but never staying for long. Who was following him?

"Heh. You don't have a beard but you do on the statue. Wonder why the mortals made you like that?" the female voice asked with a chuckle. Tallak's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Why would they be discussing appearances in front of a statue? Mortals? Could the other anomaly be...?

"I did when I was human. Take this map and Sheogorath _please_, don't turn everyone in Skyrim insane."

"I make no such promises."

Tallak heard the distant sound of a portal whizzing shut and he growled lowly, pulling his battleaxe from its sheathe on his back. '_Whoever those mysterious people were, I will not let them simply follow me about!'_ he thought angrily before peeking out from behind the wall, seeing a figure in all black still staring at the statue. They had their back turned to him, so he crouched lowly and tried to silence his footsteps as best as a Nord of his stature could.

He managed to get within a few feet of the figure - which he realized to be female - before she said, "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Then she turned, Tallak managing to only get a look at her profile for a moment. She was an Imperial, that much was obvious, judging by her skin tone and her hair. Three dark red stripes clawed their way down her cheeks, looking effectively like claw marks. What threw him off though, was her eyes; catlike pupils and golden irises that reminded him of the Khajits that traversed with their caravans across Skyrim. "I could turn you into a horker before you even lift your axe!" she continued with a cackle.

Tallak couldn't shake the uncomfortable feeling that swept over him, icing his heart with dread just at the sight of her. She was not normal, he was certain. No one could implant such feelings in a person just by glancing at them a certain way, but the glint in her eyes made his mind fuzzy and void of thought. The feeling drifted down to his heart and with terror he felt it clench around it.

That was, until the dragon soul inside him roared out, shaking him back into the future with vigor. "Who are you?" he demanded and he stood up, the grip on his battleaxe tightening.

Her lips pursed with distaste as she turned to face him, eyeing him, almost seeming to try and find what was so strong about him that he managed to escape from whatever she did. "The name's Kynara," she said. Tallak paused when she blinked, her eyes suddenly a dark brown hue.

"But I heard you. Someone called you Sheogorath. Explain!" And there they were again, those golden eyes as she glared.

"My, my. Someone's been listening in onto conversations he shouldn't have." She seemingly hesitated before adding, "You're right. I'm Sheogorath, not Sheo, or Gor, or any variants in between! _You_, little mortal, may call me 'My Lord,' or 'My Prince,' or 'My Skooma Dealer.' Whatever you wish, truly, but I don't think you'd want to be saying that last one in public."

The Nord gaped at her. Who cared what she was called? She was a _Daedric Prince_, living and breathing, standing in his homeland! In no way would he allow her to be there. His gods would never forgive him if he let her run around. "You should not be here, Daedra," he spat.

Sheogorath grimaced. "Well, 'Daedra' sounds a bit dull and unoriginal, but whatever suits you is fine," she muttered and then said louder, "But you're right; I shouldn't be here. That won't stop me though. Trust me, I'm on your side in all of this."

Confusion ran through him. In no way would he ever be on her side! No wonder she was called the Madgod; what she implied truly was obscene. "What could we possibly share views on?"

"The war." Tallak stood a little straighter as she spoke. "Don't think I don't know about the amulet you're wearing. You're a Nord, through and through. No Altmer rules are going to stop you from worshipping!" His eyes squinted when a rough accent began to overtake her regular Cyrodiilic one. "Of course, there are those pesky Thalmor that'll zap you if you so much as think of Talos. That's why it's easier to worship _me_, you see? That way, _everyone_ hates you!"

"Enough!" he barked. "Just answer me this question _plainly_: Why would you want to help the Stormcloaks?"

She cleared her throat and her eyes shimmered to brown again. "Sorry, that happens often. It's simple. I come to restore Talos' worship."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because he came to me for help, mortal. I advise you to stop trying to go too far into the affairs of immortals. Some might not be as willing to tell as I am. All you need to know is that we have an agreement that as long as I'm on Tamriel I will try not to cause you or anyone else harm from my sphere of creation, as tempting as that sounds right now." Her expression turned into one of hunger and he no doubt believed that she wanted to let her insanity seep into the minds of all at that moment.

Tallak stood, unsure of what to do. Should he take her word for it or should he try to send her back to the plane of Oblivion she came from? Eventually, a seemingly stupid part of his mind told him to trust her for now, so he placed his battleaxe back into its sheath and crossed his arms, the wind outside beginning to take its toll on his overall warmth.

"Alright," he said finally. "If its the will of Talos, I suppose I'll believe you. But why me? What does Talos want with me?"

"He's sentimental. 'O, Sheogorath, another Dragonborn walks. _Please_ ensure his safety! My poor Divine heart couldn't _stand_ it if he was lost!'," she answered, her voice mimicking a Nordic accent as she faux-pleaded with her hands clasped. Tallak glared at the jest on his god, certain that the mighty Tiber Septim did not beg as she said he did.

"I can get along fine on my own," he grumbled, thankful for Talos' worry but also finding it unnecessary.

"Still, you might not. Now, take this." He waited. She simply stood there, expressionless. He waited a moment more before realizing she wasn't doing anything.

"Take what?" he finally asked after a minute. Sheogorath blinked, returning to the present, and grinned.

"My bad! You really shouldn't let a Daedra's mind wander off; it could get dangerous. Now, I meant this!" She extended her palm. In it was a ring that Tallak had to lean in closer to see. It was a solid metal band, but inscribed on it was (from what he could tell) Daedric language that glowed a dull red. "The best thing about it is that it's one size fits all!"

He shook his head but warily took the ring, holding it between his thumb and index finger. It looked entirely too small to fit him. "But what does it do?" he asked as he glanced up at her.

"Simple: it sends a rather urgent prayer to me that could summon me whenever you need to. I feel like Haskill for saying this," she grumbled, "but just will me to appear and I will be there."

A frown pulled at his lips. He would never pray to the Madgod, and he was not sure he even wanted the ring on his fingers. Despite not being talented in magic at all, it reeked of impurity; just holding it sent small, minuscule thoughts to coil around his mind. Then again, the whispers seemed entrancing, almost pulling him to wear it. The dragon inside of him roared again, causing him to be able to think once more. What would his gods think of him wearing such a thing, something that could summon a _Daedric Prince_ to him? And how did he know that it would do just that, and not cause some random curse to befall unto him for all eternity? He had been told from a child that it was in a Daedra's will to lie, so how could he know? He did not trust this situation for a moment, not at all.

He felt her eyes on him as he examined the ring further. "You don't trust me, I know," she said, speaking his thoughts. "It's alright to; in fact, I might have sent you to the Shivering Isles at this exact moment if you did. But it's the will of Talos. I'm sure your gods won't hate you for it. Well, maybe Stendarr, but he's not important." Tallak gaped at the statement, snapping his head up to stare at her as she insulted one of his gods. "Alright, alright, he's important. He'll forgive you though. He tends to do that. As long as you commit your life to him afterwards," she added in such a rush that Tallak hardly heard what she had said.

"A-alright," he finally said, slipping the ring onto his left index finger, watching as the ring magically fit. The voices that were in his head died down, as the ring was appeased it was being worn.

"Good! Now, Windhelm's the place to join the Stormcloaks, right?" Sheogorath grinned widely before turning and promptly walking towards the trail down the Throat of the World.

Tallak quickly called out, "But I need to stop Alduin before anything else. To do that, I need to get to Ustengrav and retrieve the Horn."

That caused Sheogorath to pause and turn once more towards him. "Ooh, Akatosh's fallen son. Can't help you there, can I? Don't want Akatosh getting offended that I killed one of his sons and starting the end of the world."

"But that's what will happen if we let Alduin live!" Tallak persisted.

It was as if he cut a trapwire in her that sent a bright golden aura to glow around her with the same intensity as her eyes. Despite the warm color, ill-omens wrapped around Tallak, nearly sending him to his knees from the crippling mental pain. Never had she looked more dangerous, not when she threatened him, or when she told him to practically forsake his gods. This was the wrath of the Madgod, he realized, and he now knew that he had never wanted to face it.

"Alduin is a son of Akatosh and is therefore protected by him. I am not allowed to kill any dragon, _especially _Alduin, for Akatosh will see it as an offense and will start war between us. He would punish my realm and I would have no choice but to send insanity into his. He would win because he is infinitely more powerful than I, and he would have the help of his other Divines. The other Daedric Princes would watch idly as the worlds destruct. In any case, I can't wage war with him, for someone rather important to me is protected by him. I can guarantee you that if I assist you in slaying Alduin or any other dragon, there will be no more worlds for you to save. Now, do I make myself clear?"

A gulp forced its way down his throat before he could stop it. "Y-yes," he murmured, mentally berating his stutter.

Just like that, the feeling passed and she looked normal, with regular human eyes. "Good! So, you'll do your thing and I'll do mine. Ustengrav, was it?" Sheogorath grabbed his wrist without any warning. "Hold your breath."

So confused by her behavior that Tallak did not follow her instructions and exhaled before suddenly finding himself void of any air whatsoever. He stumbled to the ground, sputtering for breath as she looked at him with distaste. "What did I tell you?" he could just distinguish her saying.

He frowned as he noticed that there was no icy wind nipping at his face anymore. His ears popped from the sudden drop in elevation and it felt much different to breathe. There was still a chill in the air, but he could now feel the midday sun shine down onto him. Looking up, he saw the entrance to an ancient burial crypt looming in front of him.

"Is... is this Ustegrav?" he coughed, finally getting enough air to stand up. She nodded simply.

"Yes, where you'll find your Horn. Once you're done with this entire ordeal, I'll be in Windhelm. Try not to die in the meantime. Or do, whatever suits your fancy. It was a _pleasure_ meeting you, Dragonborn Tallak," she said before disappearing in thin air. Tallak paused, an uncomfortable and rather foreboding feeling stir within him, then noticing that he had never heard her use his name. In fact, he realized with a suspicious squint, he did not recall ever telling her it.

He could do nothing but pinch the bridge of his nose wearily before taking a deep breath. He unsheathed his axe and ventured into Ustengrav, attempting to quell the nagging thoughts that rang in his head with the promise of much-needed violence.

* * *

**A/N: Well, now the ball's rolling. These first two chapters were simply expositions of sorts. Meaning, chapters will start being longer. Thank you for reading, and be sure to leave a review!**


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